


The Usual

by CalliopeIndigo



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Human, Cats, Coffee Shop, Coffee Shop worker Alec, Confident Alec Lightwood, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalliopeIndigo/pseuds/CalliopeIndigo
Summary: Magnus Bane is particularly happy to live his life alone. He doesn't have to share his bed or blankets with anyone but his cats.That is, until the tall barista with the blue eyes asks him if he wants 'the usual'.





	1. The Local Bean

It's been raining for the past four hours, and Magnus Bane has not left the comforts of his bed. Maybe it's the sound of the raindrops against the windowsill, the way the wind rumbles through the air that makes his white comforter seem much more comforting than usual. Sporting messy bedhead and dark circles, he's encircled in his blanket like a toddler while he watches whatever cooking show blasted on the screen in front of him. They're making cinnamon buns, sprinkling sugar on top to make it seem like they taste better than they do. The exaggerated 'mmm!' and fake smile from the elder woman proves him right. Lowly, Magnus chuckles and his eyes divert back to the window, where the trees sway with every forceful push. It seems like a good day to stay inside and relax, pretend the world doesn't exist for a - 

"WE'RE OUT OF COFFEE!"

\- Suddenly, the day takes a turn for the worse. Rolling over onto his side, he dares to press his bare feet against the cold tile, an inaudible gasp from the change. The things he does for this woman are incredible. Avoiding the mirror like the plague, Magnus shifts his blanket on like a cape, feeling quite like a superhero at the moment as he patters down the hall. All of the lights in the house must be on, because he is blinded by something that can only be described as staring directly into the sun. Or, maybe it felt that way because he hadn't left his room since seven last night. "Are you _sure?_ " He asks desperately, head poking down the stairs because going down them takes effort he doesn't have. There's a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach; because what if there's _actually_ no coffee? How will he ever function properly again? 

Draped in Magnus' old robe and what appears to be children's rabbit slippers, Victoria bolts into view--stomping like a child, too. Her hair is somehow neater than his, but he can tell she's just as tired as he is. In her hands is an empty bag of coffee, gesturing at it like someone would during a game show. "Is this proof enough for you?" She asks calmly, though she's like coffee without sugar; bitter. "How am I supposed to deal with the pain of society now, Bane? Does water help me feel like a fucking human?" 

"It could." He replies flatly, already running through the options in his head. "I'll pick some up." He finally decides, turning on his heels to stomp back into his room. The change from his comfy pajamas into something that doesn't make him look like a slob. He's too into being presentable to dare step out in something that doesn't flatter him; so he chooses his go-to outfit; a black collared shirt, oversized scarf, fitted pants and a coat to shield him from the impending rain. One of his absurd amount of cats, Great Catsby, is lounging on his shoes like they're better than the bed that Magnus wants to crawl back into. "Now, now," He says lowly, gently pushing the loaf off of his shoes and slipping them on. "You can have your seat when I get back. Or, choose your pick of the--I don't know--500 items you could sit on in this room." He tells the cat, who looks otherwise displeased with this decision.

Finally, Magnus faces the mirror like it is his ultimate judge; and the face looking back at him makes his entire being shudder. Why men opposed makeup as much as they did was a mystery to him; it would do wonders to _some_ people. He reached out and grasped the quill-shaped brush, slicking it in black eyeliner and applying it to his eyelids effortlessly. He'd done this enough times to be an expert. His hands quickly ran through his hair, attempting to fix it to look like it was intentionally messy; eventually giving up and slicking the black locks into a bun. Finally, he grabbed his umbrella from the side of the drawer, about to fight his way through the rain so that the smell of coffee could drape through the house once again. 

As soon as he stepped outside, he flicked the umbrella open--revealing an oversized photo of his beloved cat, Chairman Meow. It's quite shocking from an upper view, but only a limited amount of people are tall enough to see over Magnus' head that far. It was a spontaneous gift to himself. His shoes tapped against the wet pavement, carelessly avoiding the puddles like he'd been in this situation a thousand times beforehand. The path was woven into his mind. He was thankful that he'd even seen the ad for a roommate, because not only did they live in such a close proximity to the stores, but Victoria also had a cat...crisis going on. As the rain began to pour harder, Magnus picked up his pace and took a spontaneous turn to the left. 

The coffee shop. _The Local Bean._ Magnus weighed the options in his head; was he going to trudge through the rain zombie-fied, or take refuge in what seemed to be a proper smelling place. Within moments, his hand tugged the door open and a chime signalled his entrance. In unison to the door, he closed his umbrella securely before stuffing it into his bag. 

It was like a lot of the shops nowadays; a fake fireplace on one side, with a few comfy chairs whilst the rest were hard enough to make someone's butt go numb. They had special names for their drinks and the workers were plagued in pink like they were bottles of Pepto Bismol. 

Magnus' eyes immediately went past all of that, and directly on the man standing behind the counter, counting how many chocolate chip cookies were left. He was tall enough that had he been outside, he would have seen a blown up version of Chairman Meow on his umbrella; and that thought concerned him. He had an array of tattoos down his arms, barely showing through the pink button-up shift he'd pulled up to his elbows. His eyes, which proved to be Magnus' favorite, were a bright ocean blue. They also seemed to be glued to the cookies, acting as if he was busy. 

Hesitantly, Magnus cleared his throat and those blue eyes shot up to meet his, accompanied by his face turning a light pink; clashing with his shirt. "I apologize," He croaked out lowly, waving his hand at the assorted baked goods. "You seemed to be very interested in...uh, cookies." 

"They're good cookies." He responded, a lopsided shrug following after. "Also, I have to count them to ensure that none of them are stolen. You know, cookie thieves are high in this area." 

"Are they?" Magnus fiends curiosity in his voice, hands pressed against the counter as he tried to decide what to order. Or, _how_ to order. 

"Black?" 

He looked back up to face the man, who was busy taking out a cookie and placing it on a napkin. Laying it in front of Magnus, he finally clarified. "Your nail polish. Why black?" He gestured for the other to take a bite. 

Magnus obliged and took a hesitant bite of the cookie, letting the chocolate nearly explode his tastebuds, because _damn_ it was a good cookie. Drawing back the need for another bite, he cleared his throat to answer. "Black never goes out of style." 

The male doesn't object to this statement, but instead squints at the other. "So, what will it be? The usual?" 

"The what?" 

"Three cream, two sugar." 

Confused, Magnus stood upright a little; trying to process this. "How do you know my coffee order?" 

"You've gone through the drive through a few times." The male says simply, like remembering is a natural thing. Common, maybe, if Magnus showed up often. Magnus winced lowly at the memory of his car--or what it had been, before Victoria totaled it a few months back. 

"I haven't had my car since December." 

"I'm waiting for the 'yes, that's what I want, you're so smart for remembering'." 

Magnus pursed his lips, eyes still squinted at the other before finally relaxing. "I want..the usual." 

The other man grins in response, like he'd won an award or something as he trailed off to go make the coffee. Magnus stepped aside so that he wasn't in the way anymore, though the shop seemed to be empty often--he wondered if it was ever busy, like most big chains. 

Only a few moments later, a white Styrofoam cup is placed into his hands. "That'll be $3.60." 

He quickly passed the change to him, taking one sip of the coffee before exhaling in triumph. "Thank you." He mumbled honestly, glancing out the window to see that the rain had finally cleared up. He still needed to get the bag of coffee for the house, and he could just imagine how the sanity was draining from Victoria's mind with each minute. 

Magnus hurried out the door with a nod as a goodbye, though the boy was already busy counting cookies again. Hands cupped over the hot drink, he pushed the door with his arms, feeling like a complete master to be able to handle opening a door while holding something. In the midst of walking down the road, his focus settled on the black contrast on the cup. 

_'ALEC - xxx - xxx - xxxx'_


	2. Electric Blue

Alexander Lightwood _loved_ his job. For someone that spent six hours a day standing at a register, he always seemed to show up ready for whatever battle was coming. An elderly woman demanding that they remake her coffee, a few children paying in all dimes, a man ready to pull out a knife because they ran out of his favorite donut. It was always something different. Change was something he relished in, because staying consistent never worked for him. This job brought new people coming together for their caffeine addiction; which was why he was so sure he'd see Coffee Boy again.

 _What_ was this man's name? For someone who continuously waited for a solid four months to see if he'd show up again, Alec didn't have a name to go by. In fact, he had very little to narrow this man down from all the other coffee addicts that entered the shop; except this one stuck out to him. His golden eyes had plagued his dreams for two weeks after he'd first gazed into them in November, when they'd locked gazes while he passed the debit machine through the window. He'd taken note of the nail polish decorating the other's fingers, a bright electric blue. A month later, he'd painted his bedroom walls that color.

Alec wasn't obsessed. Obsessed meant he'd actually have the resources to find out this man's name, house, whether or not he was single. He knew very little. In fact, all he'd done was cling to hope the past few months like a new puppy waiting in the window for his owner to come home. For all he knew, this man could be married, on his way to pick up his son from daycare and quickly grabbing a coffee on the way there. Out of all the possibilities, none stopped him from scribbling his phone number on the cup like a desperate schoolgirl fishing for attention.

When he'd gotten off, he was somewhat disappointed to see that mystery man hadn't texted him. Maybe he hadn't seen it? _Maybe_ he'd thrown the cup out without a second glance. It was plausible. But it didn't deter the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew somewhat well; **rejection**.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, parked in the driveway to his house. Rather, his _parent's_ house. They'd somehow talked him into staying with them while he was at University, to save the cost of dorm rooms. Alec knew it was just the fear of a half-empty nest; they'd also coaxed his sister, Isabelle, into staying for proximity to their work. It wasn't like they didn't have Max. The thought of going from three children to one concerned them; they weren't ready to let go.

Alec didn't want to get out of the car, relaxed in the cushion seat as he thought over his last few decisions. It was crazy to obsess over someone for such a long period of time. Especially someone who wore fancy clothes, smoky makeup, and seemed to have enough money to buy coffee without a second guess; Alec always had to check his bank account before making a risky payment of less than $5. His left hand tightened over his phone, letting out a deep sigh. It was pointless to sit there, waiting like an eager child for a message that could never come. But yet -

**TEXT - from UNKNOWN - So, what kind of stalker are you if you don't know my name?**

A wide grin spread over his lips as he took in the text message, reading it over and over as if he wanted to memorize it.

**TEXT - to UNKNOWN - You've caught me there. Care to put a name to a face?**

Alec slipped his phone into his pocket, finally finding the courage to get out of the vehicle. Twisting the keychain onto his index finger, he twirled it around once before pushing open the door and stepping out onto the grass. It was freshly cut, meaning _someone_ had mowed it for him, and he was thankful. Chores weren't his forte at all, though he proved to be a perfectionist in most ways. Recently he barely had the time to get ready for work. He made his way up the stone path, towards the double doors that marked his home. The Lightwood house was nothing short of extravagant; his mother was the mayor, his father a lawyer. Both had big enough salaries to afford a big house--though, Alec would argue they always had money like this _before_ they'd both gotten their big jobs. Twisting his key in the lock, he pulled it open and poked his head through curiously. "Anyone home?"

With no answer, he slipped off his shoes and placed them in the black tray, closing the door shut behind him. It wasn't unusual for him to be home alone. His mother barely left the office, his father was always 'working late', Isabelle continuously harassed her girlfriend to let her in (then ate all their food), and Max was at school until three. Yet sometimes, he truly wished someone was home so that the house didn't always feel so unlived in.

He dropped his bag by the side of the couch as soon as he came closed to it, falling backwards onto it from the armrest like an excited child. As fun and dramatic as his job could be, Alec often found himself too tired to move afterwards. Maybe dealing with cranky people also sucked the life out of him, too.

**TEXT - from UNKNOWN - Magnus Bane. Is Alec short for Alexander, by any chance?**

Even from the way this man typed, Alec always sensed he held himself high. It was what attracted him in the first place; the way he spoke so calmly, painted nails handing him back the machine and flashing him the warmest smile he'd ever seen in his life. He looked like a fictional character, someone out of his wildest dreams, and yet he'd become a reality. _Magnus_. The name suited him.

**TEXT - to (recently changed) MAGNUS - You're...observant. Is Magnus short for like, Magnus..ifant...pretend I didn't text.**

****

****

Alexander shook his head at what he'd written, but his thumb instinctively hit the send button anyways. Somehow he figured Magnus was the type to appreciate the horrendous puns he was able to shoot off.

**TEXT - from MAGNUS - Pretending. So, why was I given your number? Aren't you supposed to misspell my name on the cup?**

**TEXT - to MAGNUS - We don't do that, clearly aren't fancy enough. Was it too weird?**

**TEXT - from MAGNUS - 3/10 on the weirdness. Also, you've racked up the brownie points for suggested a rather addicting (wondering if you laced it) cookie & a neutral response about my nail polish.**

Letting out a chuckle, Alec bit back on his lip as he thought of a response. It'd been a while since he'd had an actual conversation with someone that wasn't mandatory with a coffee or a rushed peck on his head and 'how are you' from his parents.

**TEXT - to MAGNUS - How about a free coffee & you can show me how to paint my nails like that? I can bake a good pie. Sort of. Mediocre pie.**

**TEXT - from MAGNUS - Coffee, mediocre pie & painting nails? I'm in awe. Tell me, Alexander, when are you free again?**

Magnus texted the way he spoke, and it made Alec feel inadequate. The most he'd texted to Isabelle was emojis, but now he felt the need to write soliloquys in response just to keep him interested. Or maybe because he wanted to. He couldn't tell.

**TEXT - to MAGNUS - Tomorrow at 3? My house?**

**TEXT - from MAGNUS - See you then, Alexander. :)**


	3. Croissants

To say the least, Magnus Bane wasn't the dating type. Sure, he'd had flings every now and then - that blonde woman from two years ago ended up trying to weasel out the door with one of his cats - but nothing had quite stuck. He liked to consider himself an explorer, someone who just didn't settle down and always looked for a new adventure. He never had a family type in his head, the ones that huddled around a fireplace together during the Holidays, or children he could lavish with gifts and love. His life, as far as he could see it, was at home with his cats and - 

Victoria slammed into his bedroom not even a minute past nine, carrying a tray of oddly-shaped baked goods like croissants and waffles. The smell filled the house, mixed with the few burnt batches she surely had tossed in the garbage and acted like they had never happened. "Morning," It was obvious someone recieved her coffee this morning, because her dark eyes were a lot more perkier and soft than usual. She was dressed in one of Magnus' silk robes, with pajamas sporting bunnies barely visable underneath them. He often wished he could teach her a thing or two about fashion, but she was stubborn, and Magnus' words didn't work with her. "I read your texts when you showered last night. Shitty move, I know, but nobody texts you except me or Isabe - did you know you're fucking her brother, Bane?" 

The air in his room becomes a lot colder than he remembered, Magnus briefly losing the composure he usually had. His eyes squinted, adjusting to both the tray and chaos in front of him, trying to wrap his mind around it all. "Are you sure? Alexander is an oftenly common name - and wait, Victoria, I'm not /fucking/ him. Please get your facts straight." 

"Straight," She mimicked, slumping against the bookshelf as she drops the tray onto his lap, adjusting her glasses with her now-free hands. "Listen, how many nerdy, gay boys named Alexander work at the coffee shop down the road? Izzy gets us free coffee all the time, he signed the Christmas card we got last year - he was /at/ her birthday party." As she speaks, Magnus dissolves in a short recollection of a broody boy sitting beside Isabelle, maybe overwhelmed by all the strangers she'd invited. Maybe protective of her. He knew very little. 

Magnus drew a deep breath, as if mulling this information over. The croissant burned into his hand a little but the heat is nice, and he took a big bite. It wasn't soft, but it was edible, and he knew better than to crush Victoria's spirit. Was what he was going on even considered a date? Isabelle was an intimidating woman when she wanted to be, barging into their home like it was hers often - this boy seemed very little like her, from what he could tell. Sure, he had to have some type of confidence to scribble his name on a cup, but it was clear he was his own person. With things to discover. His nails tapped against the cuppa of cocoa she'd placed on his right hand side, debating whether to take a sip. "Well, what do you think I should do?" 

It was rare he asked Victoria's advice unless it was about a brand of coffee, or food to bring home. The longest text he'd sent her was detailing the movie times of the Finding Dory showing they'd went to, and that was a long time ago. So, understandably, the girl beside him was silent and thinking, her eyes locked on the books that had made a home in his room. They weren't her type. A bunch of foreign languages, travel guides, and a lone book about penguins. "I think," She began, scooting upright to semi-meet the other's eyes, "You should go. Get ready, wear that cologne that kinda smells like uh - fuck, the one that didn't suffocate me that time - and charm the fuck outta this dude. What do you have to lose?"

"My head, by Isabelle's doing no less." 

"Oh, get over yourself. Go paint this dude's nails and live a little." 

For once, he agreed with her, taking another bite of one of the croissants and laying the tray to the side. "I'll devour these later. I have to make myself less homely, can you pick out some nail polish while I shower? Something that...well, someone like Isabelle's brother would like." Grabbing the towel on the hook to the left of the door, Magnus paraded his way into the bathroom across the hall - hoping that whatever happened the rest of the day, it worked out.


End file.
